THE 
 
 MOTHER & HER CHILDREN, 
 
 OR 
 
 TWILIGHT CONVERSATION. 
 
 bV ABIGAIL MOTT. 
 
 ‘‘In the mo.ning sow thy seed, and in tiie evening with 
 hold not tir hand : for thou knowest not whether shall pros 
 per, eithe is or that or whether they both shall be alike 
 good.” Jesiastes, xi. 6. 
 
 Krto=¥or!t: 
 
 PRINTED AND SOLD BY MAIILON DA.Y, 
 
 NO. 376 7 PE AKL-STaE ET, 
 
 lfcse. 
 
iifcroytouseurr 
 
fl 
 
 T' 
 
 
iFrottttsptm, 
 

 THE 
 
 MOTHER AJVO HER ClilEHREN, 
 
 Oil 
 
 TWILIGHT CONVERSATION. 
 
 ABIGAIL,' 
 
 u In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening with 
 hand: for thou kuowest not whether shall pros- 
 shall be alike 
 
 TED BY MAHLON DAY ? 
 NO. 376, PEARL-STREET . 
 
HCC2. 
 
TWILIGHT CONVERSATION. 
 
 William. It is now near dusk, and 
 before the lamps are lighted, why may 
 we not have a little pleasant conver¬ 
 sation? 
 
 Mother. It is a very suitable time: 
 now all is quiet, and before we begin 
 our evening work. 
 
 Eliza. What shall we talk about? 
 
 Mother. It makes but little differ¬ 
 ence, my dear children, what we be¬ 
 gin with: if the object be for improve¬ 
 ment, we may make as long a story as 
 we please from a small beginning. A 
 small seed will produce a large plant, 
 and a little nut a great tree, if the soil 
 is good. 
 
 William. Let us begin then, with 
 Gustavus Vassa’s three pence. 
 
 Maria. What can we make of that ? 
 
3 
 
 I never have heard any tiling about 
 it; who is Gustavus Vassa? 
 
 William. He was an African, and 
 stolen from his parents when he was 
 about seven years old, carried to the 
 West Indies, and sold several times, 
 like a great many of his country folks; 
 but he at last had a kind master, who 
 told Gustavus when he could get as 
 much money as had been given for 
 him, and would let him have it, he 
 should be free. The three pence, 1 
 suppose, was given to him for some¬ 
 thing he had done. By trading with 
 that little, he got more, and so oh, un¬ 
 til by great industry and prudence, 
 he got money enough, paid it to his 
 master, and became free. 
 
 Mother. Here we have one striking 
 instance already, of what a small be¬ 
 ginning will do. 
 
 Eliza. And what did he do, when 
 he was free ? 
 
 m 
 
William , He went to sea for many 
 years, and suffered a great deal, in 
 many ways. When he was about 
 forty years old, he gave that up, and 
 wrote a history of his life, which was 
 printed; and by reading that,l learned 
 what I have just told you. 
 
 Eliza. Going to sea is very danger¬ 
 ous business I believe, is it not? 
 
 Richard. There are a great many 
 vessels lost at sea, and sometimes all 
 the people on board are drowned. 
 But I remember reading in the book 
 William has just mentioned, that when 
 Gustavus was in the ship Nancy, she 
 got on the Bahama banks, and the 
 sailors all got into the little boats, and 
 landed on an island; but when they 
 came near the shore, they saw some 
 creatures walking on the beach, and 
 they were afraid they were Canni¬ 
 bals; but being birds they soon spread 
 
6 
 
 their wings and flew away, for they 
 were only flamingos. 
 
 Maria. What are Cannibals ? 
 
 Mother. They are a fierce barba¬ 
 rous kind of people, who, when they 
 kill those they dislike, sometimes eat 
 them. It was not far from where the 
 Nancy was lost, that a vessel, many 
 years ago, in coming from the West 
 Indies, with a number of passengers 
 on board, was cast away. The peo¬ 
 ple got on shore in East Florida, 
 which now belongs to the United 
 States, though then it was inhabited 
 by Cannibals, who treated them very 
 cruelly. One of the passengers speak¬ 
 ing the Spanish language, and the 
 Cannibals being afraid of the Span¬ 
 iards, they did not kill them. In the 
 company, there was an old man named 
 Robert Barrow, and also Jonathan 
 Dickinson, his wife, and a baby only a 
 few months old, and several black 
 
/ 
 
 7 
 
 people, beside the sailors. The Can¬ 
 nibals having taken nearly all their 
 clothes, and the weather becoming 
 cold, they suffered very much for 
 want of food and clothing in travel¬ 
 ing a great distance on foot, and the 
 negroes mostly died with cold and 
 hunger on the journey. 
 
 Maria. Did the old man or the 
 baby die ? 
 
 Mother. Not then. Several of the 
 company, after travelling and suffer¬ 
 ing greatly for many weeks, reached 
 St. Augustine, where they met with 
 kind treatment from the Spaniards; 
 were provided with clothes, and sent 
 in a vessel to Philadelphia, where 
 Robert Barrow soon after died ; Jon- 
 'athan Dickinson went with his wife 
 and child to Long-Island, where 
 Thomas Chalkley, from Pennsylva¬ 
 nia, mentions attending his funeral in 
 1727, just a century ago. The baby 
 
8 
 
 lived to be a man, but 1 don’t know 
 how old a one. 
 
 Eliza. What birds were those that 
 Gustavus Vassa and his companions 
 saw, that, they were so much afraid 
 of. 
 
 William. They were Flamingos. 
 A tall bird, with long legs and necks, 
 and their plumage being red, they 
 thought they were men with red coats 
 on. 
 
 Maria. What is plumage ? 
 
 William. It is feathers. What a bird 
 is covered with, is called its plumage. 
 
 Eliza. Where those people trav¬ 
 elled, and suffered so much with cold, 
 were there any Bears ? 
 
 Mother. Not that I know of. Bears 
 generally live further north. In Green¬ 
 land there are a great many Bears; 
 some of them are black, and some are 
 white. They sometimesget on cakes of 
 ice which float away with them. If the 
 
9 
 
 ice goes into the ocean they must be 
 drowned or starve to death. When 
 it goes to some other shore, they get 
 off There has been many instances 
 of their going quite to Iceland on 
 cakes of ice. 
 
 Maria. How large are the cakes of 
 ice ? 
 
 William. They are of different si¬ 
 zes. I think Guthrie, in his Geogra¬ 
 phy, says that some of them are more 
 than a mile in length, and upwards of 
 a hundred feet in thickness: and that 
 the Dutch had thirteen ships crushed 
 to pieces with them in one season, 
 off the coast of Greenland : I suppose 
 they were there after whales or some 
 other fish. 
 
 Eliza. That is wonderful! they 
 must be a great while making, or the 
 weather agreat deal colder there than 
 it is here. 
 
 Mother. In those northern regions 
 
10 
 
 it is so cold that the ice never all 
 melts. When some of it melts, and 
 the water runs on that which is not 
 melted, and freezes again, it makes 
 the cakes thicker. And when there 
 comes a heavy storm, or milder 
 weather, some of them break loose 
 and float away. 
 
 Richard. Such great cakes of ice 
 must be very dangerous, if vessels 
 come near them, even when they are 
 out on the ocean. 
 
 William. Yes, a great many ships 
 are injured by them, and some quite 
 lost. There was a very fine new ship 
 called the Liverpool, which sailed 
 from New-York in the summer of 
 1822, with a number of passengers 
 on board. When they had been out 
 about ten days, the weather being 
 foggy, a cake of ice came very hard 
 against the ship, and broke her side, 
 so that the people were all obliged 
 
11 
 
 to get into the small boats as quickly 
 as they could, without taking any 
 thing with them but a little provision; 
 and the ship sunk almost immediate¬ 
 ly. They being in all thirty-six per¬ 
 sons, steering their course for Nova- 
 Scotia, and it being then fine weather, 
 they arrived safely in seven days. 
 
 Maria. Did they stay in Nova-Sco- 
 tia ? 
 
 William. No. Captain Lee, with 
 his sailors, and some of the passen¬ 
 gers, came back to New-York. The 
 others went to England in another 
 vessel. 
 
 Richard. Iceland,! suppose is called 
 so, because it is such cold weather 
 there. How far is it from Greenland, 
 that the Bears could go to it on the 
 ice ? 
 
 Mother. Iceland is an island north 
 ol Ireland, but not so far north as 
 Greenland; they are a considerable 
 
12 
 
 distance from each other, but those 
 large mountains of ice float a great 
 way sometimes. The most particu* 
 lar account we have of Iceland, was 
 published by E. Henderson, an Eng¬ 
 lishman, who visited it in 1814, and 
 stayed about fifteen months; in which 
 time he travelled almost over the 
 whole island. 
 
 Richard. How did he do to travel, 
 if it is so cold there ? 
 
 Mother. He arrived the fore part 
 of one summer, and stayed until the 
 latter part of the next: so that he was 
 two summers and one winter on the 
 island. When it is winter they have 
 so much snow, and the weather is so 
 very cold, that they are obliged to 
 stay at home. The houses for their 
 cows and sheep are very near to those 
 the people live in. 
 
 Eliza. Their cows give them milk, 
 I suppose; and the wool of their 
 
13 
 
 sheep makes their clothes: do they 
 weave their cloth? 
 
 Mother. Not much of it. They knit 
 most of their clothing. In long winter 
 evenings the men knit as well as the 
 women. 
 
 Richard. Do they raise indian corn 
 or wheat there ? 
 
 Mother. No, their summers are loo 
 short lor such grain. They have a 
 wild grain that looks a little like our 
 oats, which they gather, as they also 
 do the moss that grows on the rocks 
 and on the ground. For their winter 
 food, they catch some fish, and wild 
 ducks, and dry them. The ducks are 
 very fat, and have fine feathers like 
 down, which is called ederdown. The 
 women and children all help in sum¬ 
 mer, to gather what they can for winter. 
 
 Richard. Is it a smooth country ? 
 
 Mother. No, it is very mountainous, 
 and the travelling difficult even in 
 
 B 
 
14 
 
 summer. There are several volca¬ 
 noes on the island ; the most noted 
 one, called Hecla, is on the south 
 side of it. 
 
 m 
 
SECOND EVENING. 
 
 — 
 
 Eliza. I think when we were talk¬ 
 ing last evening about Iceland, Mother 
 said the people there gathered moss 
 to eat. 
 
 Maria. Eat moss! that I think must 
 
 V 
 
 be very poor eating. 
 
 Mother. The Iceland* moss is very 
 nourishing. Some of it is brought to 
 America and sold by the apotheca¬ 
 ries. It is used for persons who have 
 been very much reduced by sick¬ 
 ness. By boiling it in water several 
 hours it becomes like jelly; when 
 the liquor is strained through a cloth, 
 and milk and sugar put with it, as we 
 do in coffee or chocolate, it makes a 
 very wholesome drink. 
 
 William. I suppose it is the same 
 
16 
 
 > 
 
 kind of moss that the reindeer in 
 Lapland live upon, which they get by 
 digging through the snow. Its having 
 so much nourishment in it, a little 
 keeps them alive in winter. 
 
 Richard. It must be very difficult, 
 in Iceland, for children to get to 
 school in winter, how do they do then? 
 
 Mother. They have not many pub¬ 
 lic schools. Henderson said there 
 was but one on the island, and that 
 one was for teaching such young men 
 as were to be employed in state af¬ 
 fairs, and public offices. Mothers 
 teach their children, and those they 
 have under their care to read, as soon 
 as they are capable of it. And the 
 father instructs them in such other 
 branches of learning as he wishes 
 them to acquire. In this way, not 
 only their own children, but even 
 their little servant girls get very good 
 learning. 
 
17 
 
 Eliza, How clover that is, to learn 
 those poor children. When they get 
 to be women, then they can teach 
 their own children. ' 
 
 William. Yes, if every body would 
 do so, we should not have so many 
 ignorant folks as we now have. It 
 sometimes happens that tw'o persons 
 marry who do not either of them know 
 how to read ; and then if they get a 
 letter from a friend, they are obliged 
 to wait until they can get somebody 
 to read it for them. They are very 
 much to be pitied, for there is great 
 satisfaction in reading good books, 
 and exchanging letters with our ab¬ 
 sent friends. Of this pleasure such 
 are almost deprived. 
 
 Mother. They are so. I recollect 
 to have heard a woman say, that when 
 she received a letter from her daugh¬ 
 ter who resided at a distance from 
 her, she was obliged to wait some- 
 
18 
 
 times all day for her husband to re¬ 
 turn home before she could know 
 what it contained ; and added, “ I am 
 now very sorry 1 did not learn when 
 I was a big girl and lived with you, 
 and you so kindly offered to instruct 
 me. But I was so naughty, I have 
 often wondered ho»v you could have 
 so much patience with me as you 
 had.” 
 
 Richard. What a pity it is, that when 
 people have an opportunity, they are 
 not willing to learn. If they are large, 
 they might learn the better for that. 
 
 Mother. There is too much of what 
 may be called false shame in the 
 world. Many of those who are igno¬ 
 rant, are not so much ashamed oi 
 being so, as they are that it should be 
 known; and by this means they re¬ 
 main ignorant all their days: whereas 
 if they were only desirous of learning, 
 they could generally find some one 
 
19 
 
 1 
 
 willing lo instruct them. There is 
 one thing that sometimes occasions 
 very unpleasant feelings to persons 
 of limited education; that is, when 
 they are requested to sign their name 
 as a witness, and are obliged to ac¬ 
 knowledge they can only make a 
 mark for it. I wish every one so cir¬ 
 cumstanced, would be convinced by 
 the experiment, how soon this diffi¬ 
 culty may be remedied by having 
 their name written on a piece of pa¬ 
 per, or a slate, and copying it. In 
 this way many persons have learned 
 to write their names intelligibly in a 
 few hours. There was a school taught 
 several years by young women, in 
 New-York, on purpose for women of 
 , colour; and a number who were quite 
 aged learned to read, and were very 
 much pleased when they could read 
 the Bible for themselves. 
 
20 
 
 Marin. How clever that was : did 
 they go every day ? 
 
 Mother. No, tlxey only went once 
 or twice in a week: they could not 
 be spared from their business to go 
 oftener. It is probable they studied 
 when they had leisui'e at home, and 
 that the children or mistress of the 
 family where they lived, heard them 
 say their lessons. Dont you remem¬ 
 ber my telling you of a good little 
 boy named William, who was so fond 
 of a book that he learned all the large 
 letters before he was two years old ? 
 When he was a little older, he w ould 
 stand by his mother and say his les¬ 
 son, while she was at her work, or 
 nursing her baby. 
 
 Richard. I think he must have been 
 a very nice little boy. 
 
 Mother. He was indeed. When he 
 was about four years old, there came 
 
21 
 
 a black man to live in the family, who 
 seeing how easy it was for William to 
 learn, asked the child to learn him: he 
 replied, “ I dont know much myself, 
 but I am willing to learn thee, as fast 
 as my dear mother learns me.” When 
 evening came, the man would take 
 William on his knee and say his les¬ 
 son to him, and they both appeared 
 to enjoy these opportunities very 
 much; but it was not long before the 
 dear little boy was taken sick and 
 died. 
 
 Eliza. How sorry it makes me feel 
 that such a good little boy must die ; 
 when he was so kind too in learning 
 the poor-black man his lesson. 
 
 Maria. Mother, what is dying? 1 
 know they put folks in the ground 
 when they are dead. 
 
 Mother, it is ceasing to breathe, 
 and becoming insensible to every 
 thing around us, so that we cannot 
 
r 
 
 22 
 
 see, nor feel any more than those dolls 
 you play with. 
 
 William. But there is a part of us 
 that cannot die; that is spirit. 
 
 Mother. Yes, my dear, that’s right, 
 and when the body dies, the spirit 
 goes to God who gave it, and if we 
 have been good, and minded what he 
 has made known to us to be right, 
 He will let us live with Him for ever: 
 for as William said, the spirit never 
 dies. 
 
 Richard. We read in the Testament 
 what Christ said about those who did 
 right, and those who did wrong. I 
 often think of that about the rich 
 man, who had so many nice things, 
 and lived so high every day, and poor 
 Lazarus, who was so full of sores that 
 he could not work, and was obliged 
 to beg even for something to eat. But 
 though he suffered so much in this 
 world, when he died he was a great 
 
23 
 
 deal better off than the rich man. I 
 suppose he was very patient, and bore 
 his many trials without murmuring, 
 while the rich man was feasting, and 
 perhaps keeping bad company. 
 
 William. How necessary it is we 
 should be kind to the poor too; es¬ 
 pecially those who are sick, or lame, 
 or old, and can’t take care of them¬ 
 selves. 1 think that passage about 
 feeding the hungry, clothing the na¬ 
 ked, and visiting the sick, is also one 
 that we ought to keep in mind, if we 
 wish for happiness in the discharge 
 of our duty. 
 
 Mother. Those ideas are very cor¬ 
 rect, and it ought to be done season¬ 
 ably too. I well recollect a circum¬ 
 stance that occurred in New-York a 
 few years since. A poor man was 
 very sick, and had been so for a long 
 time, and his wile could not work to 
 earn any thing. She sat down by his 
 
24 
 
 bed-side and wept, for they were 
 strangers in the city, and it seemed to 
 her as if they must suffer and die to¬ 
 gether. A person hearing of their 
 situation, sent a little girl with some 
 provision, who got to the house just at 
 the time the poor woman was bemoan¬ 
 ing their sad and destitute condition. 
 
 Eliza. How comfortable that must 
 have been to them. I think I should 
 be willing to spare part of my own 
 dinner in such a case. 
 
 Maria. And did the little girl go 
 again to see them ? 
 
 Mother. Yes, she went a great many 
 times ; and sometimes when she went 
 to the house, the sick man would call 
 her a little angel for bringing him 
 food, and being so kind to him, though 
 he could eat but very little at a time. 
 And it is not only comfortable to the 
 sick, but to the person who sends it 
 also; for by attending to what we be- 
 
25 
 
 lieve to be right, our own happiness 
 is increased, while it relieves those 
 in distress. So that those who give, 
 and those who receive, are made to 
 rejoice together. 
 
 William. I think it is very proper 
 for children to do such errands; it 
 gives us an opportunity of seeing how 
 poor folks live, and we shall be like¬ 
 ly to have more thought about them, 
 and feel more tenderly for them. And 
 when we are at home where we have 
 plenty, we shall not be disposed to 
 waste, or throw away any thing that 
 would be useful to the poor. 
 
 C 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 • 3 '■ ' •' : 
 
 ■ • - ' : 4 . 
 
 
 
 j ->i! i ; 
 
 
 
 
 ‘ * * 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 53 . m 
 
 
THIRD EVENING. 
 
 Richard. Now we have such a com¬ 
 fortable fire and every thing is so quiet, 
 1 should like very much to have an¬ 
 other hour’s chat. 
 
 Eliza. I too, and should like to hear 
 more about those White Bears. I 
 thought Bears were all black; for 
 people frequently say, that a black 
 hog or dog, is as black as a Bear. 
 
 Mother. Animals, and birds too, are 
 generally of a lighter colour, and 
 larger size toward the north pole, 
 where the weather is very cold. The 
 White Bear of Greenland is consider¬ 
 ably larger than the Black Bear of 
 Canada; and their hair is thicker: 
 but as they live on seals and fish 
 mostly, their flesh has a very unplea- 
 
28 
 
 sant taste to those who are not ac¬ 
 customed to eating it. 
 
 Maria. Do folks eat Bears? I don’t 
 think I should like to eat such ugly 
 looking creatures. 
 
 William. Oh yes, many people are 
 fond of the Black Bear’s meat. I 
 never saw any of it, but 1 have heard 
 that it looks and tastes very much like 
 coarse beef. Their skins are often 
 seen on the backs of sleighs, in winter, 
 and look very comfortable. The 
 newspapers frequently tell us of peo¬ 
 ple killing them in this state; but they 
 sometimes have hard work to do it; 
 for a Bear will fight dreadfully; es¬ 
 pecially when wounded, or when he 
 is Very hungry. 
 
 Eliza. How do birds do to live in 
 such cold countries ? 
 
 Mother. They, like the beasts are 
 covered with thick coats; particular¬ 
 ly those which remain there during 
 
29 
 
 the winter. The wild geese that we 
 see going north, in the spring, stay 
 there through the summer, and rear 
 their young ones. When Autumn 
 comes they go in flocks to the south, 
 for warmer weather. 
 
 In the summer of 1825, there Was 
 a very large owl killed near Burling¬ 
 ton, New-J ersey. It was sitting in the 
 fork of a tree, and supposed to be 
 wearied with its long journey, and to 
 have fallen asleep. Its body and 
 legs were covered with a thick coat 
 of feathers and down, almost as white 
 as a swan. Its plumage not being 
 injured by the shot, it was sent to 
 Philadelphia, put in a state of preser¬ 
 vation, and placed on a pedestal in a 
 glass case, and makes a noble ap¬ 
 pearance. From its colour and size, 
 and the thickness of its coat, it is sup¬ 
 posed to have come from very far 
 north.—Our owls are generally grey, 
 and of a much smaller size. 
 
Richard. That one whose wing was 
 broken, and put into our garden to 
 Catch moles arid mice, was about as 
 big as a large hen ; but his eyes were 
 ltiore like a cat, and when he turned 
 them about he looked almost fright¬ 
 ful. I don’t know that I ever heard 
 one, but people say they make a very 
 disagreeable noise in the night, when 
 they are awake, and looking for some¬ 
 thing to eat. 
 
 William. I read a story in a Penn¬ 
 sylvania newspaper, the other day 
 about two hawks. A farmer hearing 
 an unusual noise in the air, looked up 
 and saw two hawks fighting, they 
 Were over a creek, and being so 
 clenched that they could not fly, they 
 both fell in the water together; when 
 the farmer taking a club and wading 
 in, killed them. 
 
 Eliza. I have heard of little birds 
 fighting too. And that when a hawk 
 
31 
 
 saw them, he would dart down upon 
 them and carry them both away. 
 
 Maria. They had better all been 
 quiet. 
 
 Richard. Yes, indeed, for fighting 
 is bad business, and generally ends in 
 wounds and distress, if nothing worse. 
 
 Mother. Eagles are not very nume¬ 
 rous in this country, though there has 
 been several killed lately, one in New- 
 Jersey, one near Croton River, and 
 another in Connecticut. 
 
 Richard. And there was an account 
 the other day in the paper, of a woman 
 killing a large one with a stick. He 
 was among the poultry; and she did 
 not know that it was an eagle until 
 she had killed it. They are often 
 seven or eight feet from the tip of one 
 wing to that of the other. 
 
 William. In cold mountainous coun¬ 
 tries eagles are plenty. They carry 
 oflf lambs and hares ; and there has 
 
32 
 
 f 
 
 been several instances of their taking 
 away little children: but the child ren 
 were got back without being much 
 hurt. 
 
 Maria. How dreadful! to be car¬ 
 ried by eagles, flying away through 
 the air so high up. How did they 
 get the children back ? 
 
 Richard. Those men who saw the 
 eagles take the children, followed 
 them to their nests and got them 
 away. 
 
 William. They let the men have the 
 children; but if they had taken one 
 of their young ones they would have 
 fought them very hard. Persons have 
 been killed by attempting it. 
 
 Eliza. They must be very strong 
 indeed, and have big claws. 
 
 Mother. They are so; but. the Con¬ 
 dor is said to be the largest bird that 
 flies. There was one brought from 
 Upper Peru, South America, to Troy 
 
33 
 
 1 
 
 in this state, in 1825, being about six 
 months old. From its beak to the end 
 of its tail was three and a halt feet,^ 
 and when it stood erect, was about 
 three feet high. When the wings 
 were spread, from the tip of one to 
 that of the other, was supposed to be 
 nearly twelve feet. The wing feath¬ 
 ers of the old ones are more than two 
 feet long, and of a shining black ; but 
 those on the body are brown. 
 
 Maria. I like the little birds we 
 have better than I do those large ones* 
 When they come for cherries in the 
 summer, they give us a merry song 
 for pay, and 1 love to see them carry¬ 
 ing straws to build their nests. They 
 lay pretty eggs, and set on them un¬ 
 til they hatch young ones, and so 
 kindly take care of them too: just 
 like a good mother. There are the 
 chickens, ducks and goslins too run¬ 
 ning about. 
 
34 
 
 Eliza. Yes, and in summer we have 
 pretty sweet flowers for the humming 
 birds; they love the honeysuckle at 
 evening when it just opens. The 
 pinks and jasamine, with many other 
 flowers, they visit and suck honey 
 from in the day time. Their nest is 
 very curious, and looks as if it was 
 made of cotton worked firmly to¬ 
 gether, and is about as big as half a 
 hen’s egg. 
 
 •Mother. A few years ago there was 
 a family living in Connecticut, who 
 had a fine honeysuckle in front of the 
 house, and a little bird came and 
 built a nest in its branches. The kind 
 people fed it while it was setting, and 
 it became quite tame. And after the 
 young ones were big enough to fly, 
 they would come around the door, 
 and the old one frequently came into 
 the house. The next summer she 
 came again, and reared her young 
 
35 
 
 r 
 
 ones, when they would alt come into 
 the house, hop about on the carpet, 
 and eat out of the girl’s hands. When 
 they went to the door and called 
 chip, chip, the birds would come as 
 quickly as chickens. I do not re¬ 
 member how many seasons the old 
 one came, but she has not been seen 
 for several years past. 
 
 Maria. Then I’m afraid she is dead! 
 did’nt the cat catch some of them ? 
 
 Mother. They did not keep a cat. 
 I ^ The mother and daughters were so 
 fond of the birds, they were willing 
 to do without a cat. 
 
 Eliza. I should like the birds in 
 summer, and the cat in winter. See 
 there how sweetly Minny sleeps on 
 the rug, and how clean she looks ; 
 but she don’t know we are talking 
 about her. 
 
 William. And don’t you remember 
 how Maria rejoiced when she found 
 
 ! 
 
Ketura had a live kitten in the bar¬ 
 rel. I think she was much better 
 pleased with it than some folks are 
 when they find a live baby. 
 
 Richard. I read in the newspaper 
 the other day, about a Mocking-bird 
 that was put in a cage when it was 
 very young, and when the folks 
 opened the door it would come out, 
 and fly about a while, and then go in 
 again; but one day it went off When 
 the weather grew cool, there was a 
 little bird seen several times sitting 
 on a wall before the door, and one of 
 the children going near to look at it, 
 it came down to him, and he took it 
 into the house; and when they open¬ 
 ed the cage door he went in and 
 seemed pleased with getting to his 
 old home; and then they knew it 
 must be the same bird they had in the 
 spring. 
 
 William . We geta great deal of in- 
 
37 
 
 formation from the newspapers, but 
 we were speaking about the flowers 
 a little while ago. How curious it is, 
 that from a small seed, or plant, put 
 into the brown earth, there should 
 come such beautiful flowers, of so 
 many colours, and smell so sweet as 
 some of them do. 
 
 Richard. We could not make one 
 real flower if we were to try ever so 
 long. Those artificial ones, we see 
 at the milliners’ shops, look natural, 
 but they have no sweetness in them. 
 
 Mother. Yes, my dear children, the 
 flowers of the field and the garden 
 are some of the wonders, as well as 
 the beauties of creation, and speak a 
 hand divine. 
 
 4 
 
' • ■ 
 
 . 
 
FOURTH EVENING. 
 
 «««» 
 
 Eliza. The fire is beginning to 
 shine upon the wall, and it tells us it 
 is almost night. See how the sparks 
 fly upwards : other things fall down¬ 
 wards. 
 
 William. Yes, the air and smoke 
 carry them up the chimney, and some¬ 
 times quite out at the top. When the 
 soot in the chimney catches fire, what 
 a blaze it makes. 
 
 Richard. I have seen chimneys on 
 fire in New-York: they blaze and 
 smoke very much, and sometimes the 
 sparks fall on the roofs of the houses 
 and set them on fire. Then the bells 
 ring, and the boys cry fire! fire! and 
 out comes the engines, and away they 
 
 go. 
 
40 
 
 Mother. This shows how necessary 
 it is to keep chimneys clean, and how 
 dangerous a thing fire is, when it gets 
 out of its proper place. 
 
 Maria. But fire is very good to keep 
 us warm in cold weather, and to cook 
 our food. 
 
 William. It is so, but we must keep 
 a proper distance from it even then; 
 for many a child has been burned to 
 death by its clothes taking fire, and 
 some women too: we read of many 
 such instances in the newspapers. 
 
 Eliza. I have heard that vrhen A. 
 B. M. was a little girl, she was one 
 day with her brothers, where they 
 had a fire out of doors, and she went 
 so near that it caught her calico 
 frock; and as she ran towards the 
 house, the woman who lived with 
 them met her and tried to put it out, 
 but could not until she had thrown a 
 pail of water on her, and that saved 
 
41 
 
 her life; but she was badly burned, 
 and very sore. And Rebecca Jack- 
 son, a little black girl, was, one morn¬ 
 ing early, reaching after something on 
 the shelf over the fire, when it caught 
 to her clothes, and she was dreadfully 
 burned before any person could get 
 into the room to help her. She suf¬ 
 fered a great deal before she died. 
 
 Mother. People who wear cotton 
 clothes should be very careful when 
 they are about the fire, and little 
 children should never be dressed in 
 them in winter. Hot water is a very 
 dangerous thing too, for many chil¬ 
 dren are scalded to death with it. 
 
 William. We not only read in the 
 papers about people’s clothes taking 
 fire, and children being scalded to 
 death, but we frequently hear about 
 parents’ going from home and leaving 
 their little children alone, and the 
 house and children being all burned 
 
 4# 
 
42 
 
 up together; how dreadful that is! 
 There was such a circumstance at 
 Grafton, in Massachusetts, last win¬ 
 ter; when four children, the oldest 
 about ten years old, perished in this 
 way. The father and mother were 
 both absent, and returned only in time 
 to see their dwelling in flames, and 
 the bodies of their poor children burnt 
 to a cinder. 
 
 Mother. In looking over some news¬ 
 papers the other day, 1 found several 
 such instances which had happened 
 since the beginning of the present 
 year, 1827. 
 
 Maria. I think people must want to 
 go a visiting very much indeed, to 
 leave their little children alone, shut 
 up in the house. 
 
 Richard. Sometimes poor women 
 are obliged to go of errands and leave 
 their children. 
 
 Eliza. It looks as if they stayed a 
 
43 
 
 great while, for the house to be burnt 
 up before they got back. 
 
 Mother. There is another thing that 
 requires a great deal of care. That 
 is not to eat any thing without know¬ 
 ing what it is. 
 
 William. It does: there has been 
 many children poisoned to death by 
 eating roots and berries, when they 
 have been wandering about the fields. 
 I believe we read in the Bible too, 
 about the Prophet’s servant gather¬ 
 ing something and putting it into the 
 pot without knowing what it was; 
 and when the people were going to 
 eat, one of them said there was death 
 in the pot; meaning there was some¬ 
 thing poison in it. 
 
 Mother. It was so; but the Prophet 
 Elisha being present, he put fome 
 meal into the pot that destroyed the 
 poison, and then they could eat it, 
 and it did not hurt them. 
 
44 
 
 Richard. How clever it was that 
 they found it out so soon, and that 
 Elisha w r as there, and knew what to 
 put in to make it good. 
 
 Eliza. Was it not Elisha that the 
 naughty children ran after when he 
 was going up to Bethel? 
 
 William,. It was; and when they 
 mocked him, and said “ Go up thou 
 bald head! go up thou bald head !” 
 there came two great bears out of the 
 woods, and killed forty-two of them. 
 
 Maria. How dreadful to be torn to 
 pieces by the bears ! It makes me feel 
 cold to think of it. It was because 
 they were wicked, I suppose. 
 
 Richard. It is very improper and 
 rude to run after any body, and call 
 them names, let them be ever so bad ; 
 but Elisha was a good man; therefore 
 it was a very wicked thing indeed to 
 treat him so, when he was going qui¬ 
 etly along. 
 
45 
 
 Mother. If they had spoken kindly 
 to him, as they ought to have done, 
 he would have blessed them, and told 
 them how to be good, and then they 
 might have lived and been happy 
 with their parents, and not have been 
 killed as they were. 
 
 Maria. Were they all had children ? 
 
 Mother. If they were not all very 
 bad, they were in the company of bad 
 children. And by being so, they suf¬ 
 fered with the bad ones. It is a com¬ 
 mon thing, when children are caught 
 with those who are bad, for them to 
 be beaten as much as any. This 
 shows how much better it is, to keep 
 out of their company. 
 
 Richard. Yes; and when we see 
 boys doing tricks that we know are 
 not good, it is much the safest way to 
 leave them as soon as we can. 
 
 William. Some boys are so ugly 
 they run away, and wander about 
 
46 
 
 irom place to place, and give their 
 friends a great deal of trouble: but 
 they generally find things so different 
 from what they expected, they are 
 glad to get home again. 
 
 Mother. But there are also some 
 poor children, who are not taken care 
 of by their parents as they ought to 
 be. I will read you a story, when the 
 lamps are lighted, that 1 took out of 
 the Commercial Advertiser, in 1821, 
 about a poor little boy. 
 
 THE STORY OF DE GRASS GRIFFIN. 
 
 JYew-York, 1st mo. 182/. 
 
 Yesterday morning, a strange little boy was brought be¬ 
 fore the Magistrate at the Police Office, reported on the 
 Watch Returns as being a lodger. This extraordinary 
 child is ten years of age, was very thinly clad, is but four 
 feet two inches high, delicate make, and weak eyes. On 
 being asked by the Magistrate who he was, and where from, 
 he gave the following account:— 
 
 “My name is De Grass Griffin —I am ten years old—my 
 father is a boatman, in Killingworth, Connecticut—my mo¬ 
 ther left there for Philadelphia last summer—she parted 
 from my father—he don’t take any care of me. About four 
 weeks ago I started from Killingworth for Philadelphia, to 
 see my mother—had not a cent when I started—walked 
 part of the way and rode part. My sister, (who is a mar* 
 
47 
 
 ried woman) told me in what part of Philadelphia I would 
 find my mother. When I got there, I found that she was 
 dead—I remained there, going about the town, about a week. 
 I then started to come back. A gentleman in Philadelphia 
 gave me a twenty cent piece, an eleven-penny bit, and a 
 five-penny bit—I have the twenty cent piece yet. I got into 
 this town yesterday morning—had nothing to eat all day 
 yesterday till in the evening, when I got some clams at a 
 little stand near the river. I calculate to start for home this 
 morning, and to get a stage driver to give me a ride.” Ma¬ 
 gistrate—“I will send you to the Alms-House, over the way, 
 that you may get your breakfast, and be taken care of.” 
 Answer. “ Very well ,* but I wish to start on.” 
 
 It was truly astonishing to behold such a child perform 
 (in the depth of winter) a journey of upwards of two hun¬ 
 dred miles, with such a trifle of money, without warm cloth¬ 
 ing, and the snow on his road nearly as high as himself. 
 His deportment was mannerly, his answers prompt, clear 
 and brief; he appeared to feel no want, asked for nothing, 
 nor made any complaint, but had perfect confidence in his 
 own powers and ability to get to the end of his journey on 
 his twenty cent fund. Tl\e decision and fortitude of this 
 little destitute boy, might furnish a profitable example to 
 many irresolute and desponding men. 
 
 Maria. How clever it would have 
 been if somebody had given him a 
 great coat, and paid his passage in 
 the stage. 
 
 William. Perhaps they did: some 
 people don’t like to tell of every good 
 
48 
 
 thing they do; they had rather do 
 their alms in secret. 
 
 Richard. But it would be a satis¬ 
 faction to us to know that it was done; 
 they need not have told who did it. 
 
 Eliza. It was much better for him to 
 go home again, if his mother was dead. 
 Though his father did not take care 
 of him as he ought to do, if he was a 
 good boy the neighbours would not 
 let him suffer, but would find some¬ 
 thing for him to do, to get him victuals 
 and some clothes. Children have to 
 suffer a great deal sometimes because 
 their parents are bad; but they must 
 try to be good themselves, and then 
 they will find friends. 
 
FIFTH EVENING 
 
 Richard. The sun is now gone 
 down, and the night is fast coming 
 on ; I should be glad if every body 
 could find as comfortable a fire-side 
 as we have. 
 
 Mother. It is a great favour to have 
 such a one, and we ought to be very 
 thankful for it; but we don’t know 
 how to number our blessings until we 
 are deprived of some of them. Doctor 
 Young says “ Blessings brighten as 
 they take their flight,” and we ofte# 1 
 find it so. 
 
 Maria. What makes it grow dark 
 so much sooner than common this 
 evening ? 
 
 Richard. It is because the clouds 
 are so thick that the sun does not 
 5 
 
50 
 
 give us light so long as in clear 
 weather; then we have light from it 
 a long time after it is out of sight. 
 The time between sun set and dark 
 is called twilight. 
 
 Eliza. It is said in the Bible, that 
 the sun was made to rule the day; I 
 suppose it means that its light is so 
 great that it hides the moon and all 
 the stars; and so it rules. And how 
 beautiful it looks when it rises, in a 
 clear morning. 
 
 Maria. The moon is also beautiful 
 when it shines bright; and when it 
 don’t shine, how pretty the stars are, 
 all over the sky. 
 
 ♦ Richard. There are a great many 
 curious and beautiful things to be 
 seen, when, (as Doctor Watts says,) 
 •“ we survey the ground we tread, or 
 gaze upon the sky.” 
 
 William. The snow begins to fall, 
 and 1 hope we shall have good sleigh- 
 
51 
 
 ing, so that we can ride to school in 
 the morning. 
 
 Mother. The snow makes pleasant 
 riding for the people, but it makes a 
 hard time for the poor horses; espe¬ 
 cially such as are kept in the cities to 
 hire out. 
 
 Richard. Yes, I have seen the sleighs 
 full of folks, and the horses driven so 
 fast as to make them sweat very 
 much, even in the coldest weather. 
 
 William. And when they are put 
 into the stable, they stand and shake 
 almost as much as people do when 
 they have an ague. 
 
 Mother. Such hard usage soon 
 makes them stiff, like old horses. It 
 is very cruel to abuse such useful an¬ 
 imals, to gratify the wishes of the 
 vain; who, wanting to ride a great 
 distance in a short time, drive much 
 faster than they ought to do, without 
 Reflecting that the poor animals have 
 
52 
 
 feeling as well as themselves, though 
 they can’t express it. 
 
 Eliza. Yes it is. And it is cruel 
 also to beat a dog, or a cat, or to pull 
 off the wings and legs of the poor lit¬ 
 tle harmless insects. 
 
 Maria. I wonder how any body that 
 knows how hard and uncomfortable 
 pain is to bear, should do so. 
 
 Richard. It is often done, without 
 thinking of the pain it gives; and I 
 believe if parents were to take more 
 pains to inform their own children, 
 and others under their care, how im¬ 
 proper such things are, there would 
 not be half so much cruelty inflicted 
 on the poor dumb creatures as there 
 now is. I hope we shall always know 
 better, and tell others better when we 
 have an opportunity. 
 
 Eliza. Let us tell the story about 
 Robin, now it snows. 
 
 Maria. Well, begin. 
 
53 
 
 Eliza . Robin red breast, lie close in thy nest, 
 For now the cold winter comes in. 
 Maria. T care not a rush, Fll into my bush. 
 And tuck my head under my wing. 
 Eliza. Suppose it should snow, and the wind 
 it should blow, 
 
 And into the bush it should scatter ? 
 Maria . Then Fll hop to some barn, and keep 
 myself warm, 
 
 And there’ll be an end of the matter. 
 William. And in the morning those 
 beautiful verses in Eliza’s book called 
 4 Snow,’ may be said with propriety. 
 
 Maria. I should like to hear her 
 say them now. 
 
 SNOW. 
 
 Eliza. O come to the window, dear brothers, 
 and see 
 
 What mischief was done in the night; 
 The snow has quite covered the nice 
 apple-tree, 
 
 And the bushes are sprinkled with 
 white. &c. &c. 
 
 Richard. The little birds that stay 
 with us in winter, want feeding some¬ 
 times, as well as the fowls. When 
 
54 
 
 the snow is on the ground, they can’t 
 find much to eat, and I think they 
 must get very hungry. In the sum¬ 
 mer they catch worms and insects, 
 but in winter they are dead, or Eisleep, 
 where the birds can’t find them. 
 
 William. We often see the birds 
 round the barn, picking up seeds that 
 fall out of the hay that the cattle eat. 
 
 Mother. Many a poor traveller has 
 been overtaken by a snow' storm, and 
 suffered to death. We ought to feel 
 very much for them too, such a night 
 as this. 
 
 Eliza. We frequently find such cir¬ 
 cumstances in the papers. 
 
 Mother. One poor man I knew very 
 well, when I was a little girl like 
 Eliza, who stayed his last night at my 
 father’s house. He left it in the 
 morning, and although it was not 
 more than three miles to his own 
 house, he never reached it. By loi- 
 
55 
 
 tering, and calling at several places, 
 and getting cider, which he loved too 
 well, he became intoxicated. To¬ 
 wards evening it began to snow, and 
 in crossing a field, he either lost his 
 way, or being unable to walk, fell 
 down and froze to death. The next 
 day, when he was found, he w T as al¬ 
 most buried in the snow. 
 
 William. Many poor creatures have 
 lost their lives by getting drunk. I 
 saw an account a few days ago, of a 
 man who lived alone. He got out of 
 his bed, kindled his fire, and, taking 
 a dram, sat down, and soon fell with 
 his back into the fire, and was unable 
 to get out. When he was found in 
 the morning, his back and one of his 
 shoulders were burnt to a crisp. He 
 was but just able to tell how it had 
 happened, and died in a few hours. 
 What a dreadful thing it is for any 
 person to die in such a situation ! 
 

 56 
 
 Richard. And there are a great 
 many families also, who suffer very 
 much by drunkenness. 
 
 Eliza. Yes, our neighbour P. abu¬ 
 ses his wife and children very much 
 indeed when he gets drunk. 
 
 Maria. I think when men do so, 
 they should be shut up somewhere, 
 every time, until they learn to do bet¬ 
 ter. 
 
 Richard. I wish something could be 
 done, to relieve the poor women and 
 innocent children, from suffering so 
 much. If the people in this country 
 were to do like the Lacedemonians, 
 it might have some effect. 
 
 Eliza. How was that ? 
 
 Richard. When they found a drunk¬ 
 en man, they collected all the chil¬ 
 dren they could together, and bid 
 them take notice, and see what a 
 beast and fool he had made of him¬ 
 self. This practice, with the exhor- 
 
57 
 
 tations given while the miserable ob¬ 
 ject was before their eyes, made such 
 an impression on their minds, that 
 drunkenness was seldom known 
 among them. 
 
 William. It looks very strange, that 
 a man having any regard for his own 
 reputation, or that of his family, 
 should give way to such a foolish and 
 debasing practice as that of getting 
 drunk ; but it is so common a thing in 
 our country, that children can see it 
 without being called together for that 
 pui’pose, and it is agreat disgrace to us. 
 
 Eliza. Did not Noah get drunk, al¬ 
 ter he came out of the ark ? Was he 
 bad then ? 
 
 Mother. I don’t think he was : that 
 was an accident. The people before 
 the flood, I suppose, drank the juice 
 of their grapes as soon as it was 
 pressed out, and then it would not 
 have an intoxicating effect. 
 
53 
 
 William. Bat Noah planted a vine¬ 
 yard, and had a great many grapes; 
 and when he pressed the juice out of 
 them, there being but few people, 
 they did not want it all at once, and I 
 suppose some of it stood until it fer¬ 
 mented like our cider and currant 
 wine; by drinking it without knowing 
 that it was so much changed by fer¬ 
 mentation, he became drunk. 
 
 Mother. 1 think William’s supposi¬ 
 tion quite reasonable and correct; for 
 we do not find that the Lord reproved 
 Noah for it, or that he or any of his 
 family were ever drunk afterwards. 
 
 Eliza. I think we have talked a 
 great deal about drunken folks. 
 
 Richard. If we could do them some 
 good by it, I should be willing to talk 
 all night about them. 
 
 William. But they seem like people 
 without ears to hear, or hearts to un¬ 
 derstand ; and one might as well talk 
 
59 
 
 to a stick of wood, as to talk to some 
 of them. 
 
 Mother. There is another circum¬ 
 stance attending intemperance, that 
 is still more shocking than any we 
 have named; that is murder. If we 
 examine carefully, I believe we shall 
 find that most of the murders for 
 which people have been hanged in 
 these northern states, were committed 
 when under the effects of spirituous 
 liquors. I see no other way, my pre¬ 
 cious children, to remedy these great 
 evils, than for the younger ones to 
 take warning by the sufferings and 
 disgrace of those whom they see acting 
 so inconsistently with their dignity as 
 human beings, to say nothing about 
 religion; though that is the most se¬ 
 rious part of it. Now let us light the 
 lamps, take our tea, and read a few 
 chapters in the Bible. We may always 
 have comfort, and find benefit in that. 
 
SIXTH EVENING, 
 
 William. Evening is come again: 
 how soon the days pass! I was just 
 thinking how many pleasant hours we 
 have spent, in what our dear mother 
 calls Twilight Conversation.—I think 
 such opportunities, are very useful to 
 the children of a family : I am sure 
 they are very agreeable to me. I 
 should be sorry to weary her; she has 
 many cares, and many anxieties on our 
 accounts, in addition to those trials 
 that we are strangers to : but if she 
 feels well enough, and is willing to join 
 us again this evening, in a little fire¬ 
 side talk, it will be very pleasing to me. 
 
 Richard. Yes, dear Mother, and so 
 it will to us all. 
 
 William. Brothers and sisters, that 
 are blessed, as we are at home, who 
 have so much done for them, so much 
 
61 
 
 kindness and concern manifested in 
 instructing them, have much to be 
 thankful for; and ought to be good 
 children. 
 
 Mother. I have listened with de¬ 
 light to the sentiments that William 
 has just expressed. Nothing can be 
 more grateful to me, than to discover 
 evidence of tender feeling and piety, 
 in the minds of my dear children, and 
 it will always give me pleasure to con¬ 
 tribute to their satisfaction and im¬ 
 provement. You are quite at liberty 
 to commence such conversation as 
 you wish. 
 
 Eliza. Then I should like to talk 
 about little Samuel, whom William 
 read about last evening in the Bible. 
 
 Maria. 1 too, for he must have been 
 a very nice little boy. And it was 
 so clever for his mother to make a 
 new coat every year, and carry it to 
 him, when she went to see him. 
 
 6 
 
62 
 
 Richard. And he was so dutiful too. 
 When his mother put him under Eli’s 
 care, although he was a very old man, 
 Samuel stayed quietly withhim. And 
 when he was called in the night, he 
 jumped out of bed, and ran to Eli so 
 quickly, even three times. 
 
 William. That was a very impor¬ 
 tant night, for it was the Lord that 
 called him, though even Eli, did not 
 suspect it at first; but when he thought 
 who it was, he told Samuel, if he was 
 called again, he must say, “ Speak 
 Lord, for thy servant heareth,” and 
 he did so. And the Lord told him 
 many things that would happen to Eli 
 and his family; and in the morning 
 when Samuel had opened the house, 
 Eli called him, and asked what had 
 been said to him in the night. And 
 Samuel told him all. 
 
 Mother. It was quite proper for 
 Samuel to tell Eli all that was said to 
 
63 
 
 him. And although the sentence of 
 the Lord against his wicked sons, was 
 an affecting one, yet Eli was com¬ 
 pelled to acknowledged that it was 
 just. Samuel’s integrity, and love of 
 truth, made him loved and respected 
 wherever he went. And he became a 
 very useful man, and a great prophet. 
 
 William. It is much the best way 
 always to speak the truth. Telling 
 lies is a mean vice, as well as a very 
 wicked thing. And when people get 
 in the habit of telling them, we never 
 know how to believe what they say. 
 
 Richard. It makes the old proverb 
 good, “ A liar is not to be believed 
 when he speaks the truth.” And who 
 wishes to keep company with such a 
 one? there can’t be any satisfaction 
 in hearing people talk, w hen we don’t 
 know whether to believe them or not. 
 
 Mother. Children, when they have 
 committed a fault, will sometimes tell 
 
64 
 
 a falsehood to conceal it, which is 
 very wrong; for it makes two faults 
 instead of one ; and they ought to be 
 corrected more for the last than the 
 first, which is sometimes an accident. 
 If when they have done what they 
 ought not to do, they would acknow¬ 
 ledge it without any hesitation, then I 
 think there are very few parents of re¬ 
 flection but would forgive them at once. 
 
 Eliza. Yes. When Ann broke the 
 pitcher, and came right in and told 
 mother of it, she only enquired how 
 it happened, and desired her to be 
 more careful next time. And I think 
 she will, for she looked sorry. 
 
 Mother. When Ann’s Mother died, 
 and she came to live with us, she was 
 not five years old. One day when 
 sitting pensively by my side, she rais¬ 
 ed her eyes, and said, “ I think my 
 mother has gone to that good place 
 you sometimes tell me of.—I believe 
 
65 
 
 she was a very good woman, for she 
 never whipped her children only 
 when they deserved it. 
 
 William. What an excellent testi¬ 
 mony to a Mother’s care, that so 
 young a child should be made sensi¬ 
 ble of so nice a distinction ! 
 
 Mother. She was a prudent woman, 
 and I suppose she did not correct her 
 children without making them under¬ 
 stand first what it was for, that they 
 might remember not to do so again. 
 
 Richard. How much better that is 
 than slapping them on their ears, and 
 knocking them about as some folks do. 
 
 Eliza. It is: 1 have seen children 
 treated so, and when they have done 
 a little fault, go round as far as they 
 could, so as not to get within their 
 parent’s reach, for fear of getting such 
 knocks on the head. 
 
 Maria. 1 should not Uke to live 
 with such folks. I think such hard 
 6 * 
 
66 
 
 blows, must make their poor little 
 heads ache sometimes. 
 
 William. Yes, and it is very liable 
 to hurt their hearing too, and that is 
 also a very serious thing. 
 
 Maria. When Eliza and I went to 
 the barn this afternoon, to see the 
 sheep, there were three pretty little 
 white lambs, but they were not big 
 enough to play yet; and the old sheep 
 looked at us as if they were afraid 
 we were going to take them away. 
 
 Eliza. And one of them stamped 
 her feet, as if she meant to say, don't 
 come any nearer. The old buck 
 with his crooked horns quite frigh¬ 
 tened us; for when he came towards 
 us, he put down his head, and looked 
 as if he was angry. 
 
 William. It would be better for you 
 not to go there alone; he does butt 
 hard sometimes. The other day when 
 I was in the yard, he came towards 
 
67 
 
 me in that way, and if I had not seen 
 him, and stepped aside, he would 
 have knocked me dow r n, and perhaps 
 broken some of my limbs. 
 
 Richard. I have seen sheep fight¬ 
 ing, and they strike their heads so 
 hard together sometimes, as to make 
 the blood run out of their noses, and 
 even to kill one another. 
 
 Eliza. That’s hard times! and I think 
 of them, as Maria did of the birds the 
 other evening, “they had better be 
 quiet.” 
 
 Mother. When Merino sheep were 
 first brought to this country, they w ere 
 much thought of, and sold for a great 
 price. 
 
 William. I believe there were per¬ 
 sons who gave several hundred dol¬ 
 lars a piece for them, and 1 have under¬ 
 stood that there were a great many 
 sold for one hundred dollars a piece. 
 
68 
 
 from r And why did people give so 
 much for them ? 
 
 ^ Mother. They were brought from 
 Spain. Having so much more wool 
 on, than the American sheep, and 
 being of a much finer quality, induced 
 people to hope that by their being 
 introduced into this country, they 
 could make cloth good enough to 
 wear, without importing it from Eng¬ 
 land. And there has been some made 
 that was very nice. 
 
 Richard. Why are the people dis¬ 
 couraged from raising the Merino 
 sheep, and making the cloth as they 
 wished to do ? 
 
 Mother. Labour is so much higher 
 here than in England, that cloth of 
 the same quality cannot be made 
 quite so cheap as it can there; but 
 there is a considerable quantity made 
 and worn in the Eastern States; and 
 your dear father prefers it for winter 
 when he can get such as he likes. 
 
 ^ „ _ _ 
 
69 
 
 William. The Americans have so 
 much land to work on, that they like 
 farming better than manufacturing 
 cloth. Almost every man, if he is in¬ 
 dustrious and prudent, and has an 
 economical wife, may get a piece of 
 land, build him a house, and bring up 
 a family respectably. But it is not 
 so in England. There are abundance 
 more inhabitants, in that country in 
 proportion to the land, and it is most¬ 
 ly owned by rich men, who charge 
 very high rent for it. 
 
 Richard. 1 have heard of some 
 beautiful pieces of cloth being ex¬ 
 hibited at the fairs, where they carry 
 so many of their nice things to show, 
 and to get what they can for them. 
 
 Maria. Is it there that the girls 
 carry their grass bonnets, that there 
 has been so much talk about ? I 
 should like to see them very much. 
 
 William. They are called very nice, 
 
70 
 
 
 and I think it is much better to en¬ 
 courage our own country girls in 
 making such bonnets, than to send 
 quite to Leghorn for them, even if 
 they should cost a little more at first; 
 when they get accustomed to the bu¬ 
 siness, they can make them faster, 
 and afford to sell them cheaper. 
 
 Eliza. And I suppose that little girls 
 may soon learn to plat grass as well 
 as straw; I think it would be very 
 pretty business for them. 
 
 William. I believe there is a person 
 in this State, who is manufacturing 
 such bonnets on a pretty large scale 
 now. I do not recollect the name of 
 the place, but it is where the right 
 kind of grass, for that purpose, is 
 plenty. 
 
 Mother. If they would but make 
 them of a moderate size, they might 
 be convenient and comfortable; but 
 the bonnets generally worn, are so 
 
71 
 
 large, they are very inconvenient 
 things, in places of public resort; and 
 when there is three or four of them 
 in a stage coach, a moderate silk bon¬ 
 net stands but little chance of escap¬ 
 ing their rubs, and being very much 
 injured. 
 
 Maria. When our dear Father 
 comes home, we can tell him how 
 pleasantly we have spent our twilights 
 since he has been absent. 
 
 Eliza. And I should like to tell him 
 all we have talked about. 
 
 William. I dont think there would 
 be any difficulty in recollecting it; I 
 believe 1 could tell the whole, with¬ 
 out the help of mother’s notes. 
 
 Richard. If one of us could not re¬ 
 member every part, we could help 
 one another. 
 
 Mother. And itwould afford him as 
 much satisfaction to hear, as it can 
 give you pleasure to relate it to him. 
 
72 
 
 ‘S 
 
 And now my dear children, if we look 
 back to the beginning of the week, 
 when our twilight conversation for 
 improvement commenced, we may 
 recollect, that there was some hesita¬ 
 tion about a subject, as if, unless we 
 could think of some important circum¬ 
 stance to begin with, we should not 
 find any thing to instruct us; but Wil¬ 
 liam’s mentioning the three pence, has 
 led from one thing to another, and we 
 have been at no loss for a subject any 
 evening since; nor do I think we should 
 if we were to continue it ever so long. 
 
 To-morrow is the day particularly 
 set apart for religious duties, and at¬ 
 tendance on public worship : and al¬ 
 though we may not make a memoran¬ 
 dum of our conversation in the eve¬ 
 ning, 1 hope we shall endeavour to 
 improve the leisure time in reading 
 suitable books, and in obtaining use¬ 
 ful instruction. 
 
 THE END.